Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Bianca’s jaw dropped, and she stared at me in disbelief. “Are you serious, Aiden? We’re going to wait months until I can get a half-decent wedding planned?”
A bark of laughter exploded from my chest at her ridiculous scenario. “Not a fucking chance in hell, kitten,” I grunted. I pinched her chin between my thumb and index finger, then leaned down so our faces were mere centimeters apart. “I fully intend to have you naked in our bed tonight, screaming down the walls as my cock fucks your tight little pussy until you come so hard that you pass out.”
Bianca’s face flushed pink while her eyes burned bright with need. The smell of her arousal was permeating the air and driving me wild. We needed to get the hell out of the car.
I grabbed the handle and opened the door before quickly climbing out. Then I held my hand out so she could put her palm in mine, letting me help her alight from the vehicle. The sunshine and fresh air cooled the hunger riding me, allowing my mind to clear. Apparently, it did the same for Bianca because she poked me in the arm, and when I looked down at her, she was staring at me with a frustrated frown.
“You just said you wouldn’t…um…make love to me until we were married. Then you tell me you’re going to…um…be with me in your bed tonight. How exactly does that work?” she huffed.
I bent over and put my lips to her ear, enjoying the little shiver that raced through her body. “Our bed,” I emphasized. Then I stood and swept my hand out to indicate the building we were standing in front of.
The large gray, stone structure with its massive double doors made of iron loomed over us. On the wall to the left of the entryway, the sun glinted off the gold lettering that marked it as Office of the City Clerk. Or, in other words, The Marriage Bureau.
8
Aiden
Bianca gaped at the building before her eyes came to my face again. “You can’t be serious,” she gasped.
“You already know the answer to that question, Bianca,” I stated firmly.
“I promised you I wouldn’t run again,” she snapped, changing the subject abruptly. “Don’t you trust me to keep my word?”
“I do,” I replied honestly. “But I wouldn’t be as successful as I am if I didn’t have backup plans.”
Her brow furrowed, and her eyes darted to the state building. “But-but…we don’t even have a license.”
“You know that I’m a lawyer, right?” I laughed, taking her hand before walking toward the wide stone steps that led up to the entrance.
“But there are rules!”
“Sweet kitten,” I murmured once we were inside the building’s hushed interior. “I don’t normally break the rules—although I would for you—but some of them are very bendable.”
I resumed walking, and while she sputtered, she didn’t try to pull away. It didn’t take long to reach our destination, and I swiftly entered the small waiting area and smiled at the young man sitting behind a desk made of dark wood that matched the paneling on the walls.
“Good afternoon, Brian.”
“Hi, Aiden. Go on in. The judge is waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I curled my arm around Bianca and strolled toward the indicated door but tossed another comment over my shoulder. “Can you let the group know I won’t be at our weekly tee time for the next few weeks?”
“Of course,” he replied with a perfunctory nod. Then he grinned. “Honeymoon?”
“What else?” I smirked as we entered the back office. This room was also paneled with dark wood and had matching floors, although there was a finely crafted Italian rug covering most of it. The furniture was wood and brown leather, and the judge’s desk looked like it came right out of an office in an old Victorian mansion.
The man behind it was nothing like the stuffy office, though he enjoyed the décor for some reason. Judge Dillon Lambert was in his early sixties, but he was healthy and in shape, so most people mistook him for being much younger.
We’d met over a hairy case that had almost resulted in my being thrown in the slammer for contempt of court. Despite the clashing in the courtroom, when the case was over, he invited me back to his chambers for a drink. Apparently, he appreciated my fire and dedication, and though he wouldn’t hesitate to throw my ass in jail if I acted like that again, he invited me to play golf with him and a few other colleagues.
We’d spent almost three hours drinking and sharing outlandish and hilarious stories from our careers. He’d become one of my closest friends, even though he had, in fact, tossed me out of the courtroom twice and fined me—after leaving me in the cell for at least two hours—for being in contempt.